WHO'S HALLOWEEN IS IT, ANYWAY?

A VERY SPOOKY STORY By Vern Gissing

Five people, dressed in heavy black robes approached the dark, round table and sat down on the sinister-looking chairs made from dozens of white, grinning animal skulls. A blood-chilling howl rose up from the knoll just outside the house that pierced the silence of the large room, lighted only by five guttering candles. Simultaneously, five pairs of bony hands emerged from oversized sleeves and rested on the table, fingers outstretched. The hands then came together to form a pentangle. In the center of the table, a paper bag, oily and with dark red stains, rested suspiciously on it's side. The figure seated at the head of the pentangle rose slowly to his feet and shouted "kids, it's time for dinner!"

Upstairs, in the playroom, Sally and Ben looked at each other and said in unison, "not again". It was like this every Halloween. First, a week before the big night, the house would be decorated ('defaced', as 11-year old Sally put it) inside and out with plastic pumpkins, full-size witch dolls on broomsticks, articulated cardboard skeletons, fake cobwebs and, most embarrassing of all, dozens of strands of tiny, orange lights strung along the gutters and festooned in the trees. If that weren't bad enough, they also knew that their parents would spend most of the week dressed in some kind of strange get-up when they went off to work, hoping to win this years' best-in-office prize. Then, the whole ordeal culminated in Halloween night, when Mom and Dad would go up and down the block, fully costumed, banging on doors, demanding treats before going on to some neighbor's party, returning home in the wee hours, worse for wear.

As usual, Sally and Ben's parents were joined by The Merkels from next door and ex-Uncle Harvey. The supper ritual was the same as every year. The black robes, the candles, the greasy bag of chicken parmesan sandwiches from Tony's. After dinner, Karen, the 17 year-old from across the street, arrived to babysit the children (9-year old Ben, objected, as usual) and received rushed, last minute instructions from their Mother as she hurried out the door to catch up with the other adults. "Who were THEY supposed to be?" asked Karen later, when she was upstairs sitting next to Sally in the playroom. "They decided to be real people from TV this year", Sally intoned wearily -" Dad is Dog The Bounty Hunter, Mom is Rachel Ray, Mr. Merkel is Larry King, Mrs. Merkel is Ellen DeGeneris and ex-Uncle Harvey is that guy from 'House' ."
Karen remarked that 'House' wasn't a real person, but Ben pointed out that, when ex-Uncle Harvey didn't shave for a day or two, he kind of looked like the character, and that was OK with everyone else.

After she had dropped the last two pint bottles of Grey Goose Vodka into the Hendersons'(dressed in Keith Olbermann & Katie Couric costumes) outstretched bags, Karen switched off the porch light and hoped that they were the last of the Trick-Or-Treaters. "Next year I'll be on the other side of the door, I'll be 18 and legal", she boasted to the children,"and I can't wait!" Glancing at the clock, she ordered them upstairs to bed and then sat down alone at the dark, round table where the pentangle had been formed by the bony hands only hours before. "Yes, I can't wait", she hissed.

Just past two AM, a lone figure approached the front door, lightly breaking the hush of the moonless night. It was clad in a heavy, black robe, bony hands extending from oversized sleeves and gripping the handles of a large, fully laden brown wicker basket. The mysterious figure solemnly set it's burden down on the concrete porch, turned away slowly and disappeared. Inside the basket, one could just barely make out five roundish shapes, they might be pumpkins, or maybe - heads. One of them kind of looked like that guy from 'House'.

Vern Gissing is the author of the popular scary-book series 'Gooseturds'.
He is currently stalking The Jonas Brothers.